


city ruins

by krystian



Series: hopes and dreams [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dreamtale (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Blood and Injury, Dissociation, Everyone Has Issues, Families of Choice, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Possession, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29108475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krystian/pseuds/krystian
Summary: The old Nightmare he used to know isn't coming back, and maybe Dream has to accept that. Has to accept that the world is moving on while he just keeps on living in the ruins of a place he once called home.But perhaps the world isn't as bleak as it seems when you have friends who care about you.
Relationships: Sans & Sans (Undertale), dream & blue
Series: hopes and dreams [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2160105
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	1. rays of light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first exam of the year done! so i thought i'd treat myself with this! i don't know how well i did in my maths exam but only time will tell ig...  
> in any case, before we start!!
> 
> the title is taken from Nier: Automata's [City Ruins (Rays of Light)](https://youtu.be/2FzyKtct4es) which I usually listen to whenever I drive because it's calming and I tend to speed when listening to Pop or Rock 
> 
> the story is set somewhere in between/after the events of Underverse, just for better understanding but with a few twists I guess?
> 
> also there are direct quotes from Gilgamesh in here because I just finished the book (?) and like, man it is pretty at times.
> 
> [the obligatory mentions:  
> Dreamtale by Jokublog  
> Killertale by Rahafwabas  
> Underswap by p0pcornPr1nce  
> Inktale by Comyet]

Blue is like a constant across all timelines. A safe haven to look forward to, once you can pinpoint his location which isn’t that hard since he’s generating good feelings basically non-stop. And maybe Dream shouldn’t think about him that way, but that’s always easier said than done.

Besides, Blue doesn’t seem to mind when he materializes out of thin air right in front of him. Or at least Dream doesn’t think he does. It’s just… sort of a habit they’d formed. Dream shows up on Blue’s and Papyrus’ doorstep from time to time, they take him in for a few days until he’s regained his energy and then he’s off again. Papyrus doesn’t approve, but Papyrus doesn’t approve of a lot of things, so it’s probably fine. There certainly are bigger things to worry about.

It’s not any different right now. Not when he’s standing in front of the front door, hand hovering in the air, uncertain if he really should disturb the tranquillity of the night. Blue’s probably sleeping, and so is Papyrus. Blood is running down his arm, staining his clothes shades of red. The night is silent.

Dream sighs heavily, tearing his bleary eyes from the door, and looks at the stars instead. His hand falls to his side, uselessly clutching at the fabric of a cape that had been yellow once. And that’s when the door swings open, almost hitting him square in the face and then Blue’s basically on top of him, already tugging at his sleeve and pushing him into the house and fussing over him and-

-and it sort of is too much, if Dream’s being honest. But Dream isn’t being honest; not to towards Blue, and certainly not towards himself, so he just smiles at Blue, a smile that doesn’t reach his eye lights, one that doesn’t quell the concern in Blue’s gaze.

“What happened?” Blue asks, worry evident on his face, leading Dream towards the kitchen and making him sit down on the bench there while he flits around to grab gauze and plasters and what-not. Dream is almost tempted to say that he shouldn’t waste it on him, but he keeps his mouth shut and just shakes his head with a small smile. “Was it Nightmare again?” Blue digs deeper, squinting slightly. “Did he- did he do this?”

And to that, Dream has no answer. None that he can give Blue at least. So he just shrugs and takes the bandages out of Blue’s small hands to apply them himself because he’s done far too much damage already, he doesn’t need to worry Blue any more. “It’s fine, Blue,” he says instead, trying his best at a soothing voice; Nightmare had called him a liar whenever he’d used it. He flinches, but if Blue notices, he doesn’t show it. “It’s fine,” he repeats, more to reassure himself that it is _fine_ , because it is.

Blue doesn’t look convinced, however, and he plucks the bandages from Dream’s shaking fingers _(had they been shaking before?)_ and kneels down to wrap the wound on his arm. It’s not large by any means and it’s already healing, but it’s probably still better to be safe than sorry. “How long are you going to stay?” he asks almost conversationally, and for a second Dream is so glad he doesn’t try to broach the subject of Nightmare again that he doesn’t pick up on the slightly negative undertone that carries Blue’s words.

“You- you don’t want me to stay?”

Blue sighs, fastening the ends of the bandages with knots. He dusts himself off when he gets up although there is no dirt on his clothes. “That’s not it, Dream,” he says, averting his eye lights. “You just- you never stay long anymore. And it’s-”

 _“It’s annoying,”_ his mind supplies. _“Selfish, childish, you’re just using them, like Ink used you. You’re no better than him.”_ He shakes his head to get rid of the thoughts, staring up at Blue from where he’s sitting. “I understand,” he says softly, because he does. And he can tell when he’s overstayed his welcome. “I’ll- I’ll see you in a few days, then?”

“No, wait, that’s not what I meant, Dream-” Blue starts, reaching out, but he’s already opened another portal, disappearing like he always does. Because that’s what he’s good at.

* * *

“I thought you said you wouldn’t be coming back,” Ink says from where he’s sitting by the pond, not even looking at Dream when he appears.

Dream shrugs, the wound on his arm throbbing just a little. He can feel none of Ink’s emotions, and that either means he isn’t taking his vials or he’s feeling bad. Dream doesn’t know which one he prefers. “I didn’t want to bother Blue,” he says after a few seconds of silence. “And I don’t hate you.”

“Because you can’t.”

“Because I can’t, right.” He steps closer, sitting down a few feet away from Ink. They’re both staring at the water now. Sometimes, Dream wishes that the things between them wouldn’t have changed. That he and Ink could’ve just stayed friends, that none of this would have happened. But that’s wishful thinking and, like Nightmare used to say, wishful thinking is for children and fools. And maybe he’s got a point.

“So, why are you really here?” Ink asks, playing with the scarf around his neck. Not much has changed since Dream’s last visit, and he’s almost surprised about it, but he wills the thought to go away and focuses on the present.

It doesn’t do any good, to talk about feelings with Ink, because both of them probably are the least qualified people in the entire multiverse – apart from Nightmare himself, perhaps – to talk about those. He tries, anyway. “Do you ever… feel inadequate?” He’s twiddling his thumbs, looking anywhere but in Ink’s direction, watching the colours of a never-ending sunset illuminate the space Ink inhabits, the world he calls his own, similar to the place he used to call _home_ but at the same time not really, because home was where Nightmare was and Nightmare-

Ink snorts. “Of course. Everything I feel, others have felt before me. I’m nothing more than an amalgamation of recycled emotions.”

“But you can choose what to feel,” Dream argues, drawing his legs up to his chest and resting his head on his knees. “I don’t get to choose. Nightmare didn’t get to choose. No one else does.”

Next to him, Ink shrugs. “That’s just how things are.” His blank stare is unnerving Dream slightly but he pretends not to be bothered by it. It wouldn’t matter to Ink either way.

Inside the pool of water in front of them, there is a garden. It’s not the simple reflection of this garden, this place that Ink has created on his own but something else instead, something straight out of a… well, dream. A garden of the gods, perhaps, with gem-trees that grow rubies, trees with lapis lazuli flowers, trees that dangle gigantic coral clusters like dates. Everywhere, sparkling on all branches, are enormous jewels: emeralds, sapphires, hematite, diamonds, carnelians, pearls.

Every time that Dream is allowed to gaze at the garden, he marvels at its beauty, and its inability to exist anywhere outside of its perfect cage, because its plants would wither and die if the crossness of the real world could sink its claws into the garden’s soil. 

“It could have ended differently,” Dream says after the silence has dragged on for way too long. “It didn’t need to end like this.” He drags his fingers through the grass, watching as the reflection in the pond quivers.

“Endings are a finite thing. Nothing ever truly ends; not the way you think it does, anyway.” Ink is looking at him, now. His face is as expressionless as his voice.

And Ink would know, wouldn’t he? He’s seen entire worlds end, universes wiped out from existence.

“This is far from over,” he continues, oblivious to the turmoil in Dream’s head. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. It’s hard to tell with Ink, sometimes. His eye lights are white pinpricks in an abyss as black as the tar-like substance that permanently has attached itself to Nightmare’s body. “In any case,” Ink says, turning his head away as if he’s self-conscious about Dream’s staring, “you should get going now. You’re needed elsewhere, not here. After all, you can’t do your job properly if you’re keeping me company, can you.”

If anyone else had said it, Dream might have taken it as a try to lift the mood, but with Ink’s lack of emotions, he isn’t so sure. So he just nods, dusting himself off when he gets up. He opens his mouth as if to say something but no words come out, so he shuts it again. Ink isn’t even looking at him.

There’s no room for a _“goodbye”_ or _“take care”_ when Dream steps through his portal. The silence weighs down on them like a heavy blanket.

* * *

He decides not to go back, at least not immediately.

Maybe Dream’s just not ready to face Blue’s short-lived wrath yet, maybe it’s something else. The only one who was ever able to accurately read Dream’s emotions was Nightmare, and his brother has been gone for a good while now.

Instead, he’s just hopping between worlds, checking in here and there, looking how the others are doing and helping out small-scale. He doesn’t have much energy for anything bigger.

It’s by accident _(or at least that is what he tells himself)_ that he ends up in one of the worlds that his brother corrupted and destroyed, traces of Nightmare still all over the place, and he looks at the chaos that was left behind. The few monsters that still dare to leave their houses are frightened, flinching at every little shadow that crosses their path. It’s a gloomy world, full of mistrust and grief, and it tugs at the heartstrings of his own, golden soul.

It might have been a pacifist timeline once, but it certainly isn’t one now. Whatever glimmer of hope had dragged him here, had made it possible for him to leap into this world, is gone now, snuffed out one way or the other, and the looming darkness is already feeding on him, stealing what little positivity he has left.

Dream drags his sluggish body through the ruins of what must have been a peaceful town, earning himself displeased stares left and right as he heads towards what seems to be a long-abandoned house, run-down and dirty.

He’d hop again, if he could, but there’s nothing here that could sustain him, not an inkling of positivity in the ruins of this place, so he’ll have to make-do until his body has regenerated enough energy on its own – either by forcefully dragging his own positive memories, buried in his mind, to the surface or by, well, simply resting. Even though the latter option yields less energy, it also hurts less.

So he knocks on the door and, when no one answers, presses down the handle. It opens with a creaking noise, muffled by the snow beneath his feet, and then he’s inside the cold house, and his arm is throbbing again and he winces at the emptiness of the house.

It looks like its owners left in a hurry, papers strewn all over the floor with the table still laid, dust accumulating on the plates. He averts his eye lights, hurrying past the unwanted thoughts that come to mind as if they’ll disappear if he just doesn’t think about them and then he’s standing in front of the couch, looking down at its old cushions. There’s a blanket, still neatly folded, so he takes it into his hands although it feels disgusting and he swallows the feelings that bubble up in his throat and gently takes a seat, dragging the blanket up to his chin. He doubts that he’ll get much sleep, but it’s still better than nothing.

The blanket is scratchy and it smells musty but it’ll do.

* * *

“The sleeper and the dead, how alike they are. Yet the sleeper wakes up and opens his eyes, while no one returns from death.”

He wakes up to someone with pitch-black eyes and a grin too wide for their face, immediately scrambling back as if putting distance between himself and the intruder will do anything. The skeleton is oozing an aura that feels as negative as his brother’s, perhaps another remnant that Nightmare left behind in this world.

But… no, he’s seen this skeleton before, with his brother. So he squints a little through the darkness, trying to make out the rest of their features. “Killer?” he asks hesitantly, unsure, hoping that he is mistaken.

“The one and only,” Killer snickers, taking a step forward. Dream presses his back into the couch’s cushions even though it makes pain shoot through his arm, burning and freezing at the same time. “What’s wrong, lil’ prince? Not happy to see me?”

He could hop, theoretically – he’s gathered enough energy for one jump, to somewhere safer, and Killer’s offering enough twisted joy of his own that could sustain him, even if it would physically hurt him. But he doesn’t. Because Killer – as scary as he is – is still his only link to Nightmare, or what once was Nightmare. “What are you doing here?” he asks instead, digging his fingers into the blanket so the tembling of his hands isn’t as obvious.

But Killer only shakes his head, his grin widening. “Hey, lil’ sunshine prince, where is that disgusting, sugar-sweet smile of yours?” he asks back, almost mockingly, jamming his hands into his jacket’s pockets with much more force than necessary.

He doesn’t sound upset, not really, but Dream would rather not test his luck so he forces his own, quivering skeletal lips into a thin smile, pressing his eyes shut for a second. The bone around his left eye socket feels bruised for whatever reason, hurting slightly. He ignores it. “Will that suffice?”

Killer tilts his head, and if he had eyebrows, they’d probably be raised right about now. “That’s not a smile,” he says, his grin never wavering. “That’s a grimace.” He takes another step closer, and Dream, gripped by fear, reaches out with his own soul, searches for a spark of positivity in Killer’s body that he can steady because he has to do _something_ and if he does nothing, then Killer will- _Killer will-_

But Killer has stopped dead in his tracks, clutching at the blood red soul on his chest that is pulsating softly. A tiny, cyan light is glimmering in his right eye socket. “Don’t…” Killer presses out between gritted teeth. “Don’t you fucking dare to…”

Immediately, Dream retracts the tendrils of his own positivity and edges away, out of the path of Killer’s wrath, the swath of destruction that he’ll inevitably leave behind when he lashes out because he’s bound to, because Nightmare used to lash out at him when he meddled with his feelings, Blue does sometimes, too, at least verbally, because he can’t do things the right way and…

The glimmer in Killer’s eye socket is gone as fast as it had appeared and he rights himself again, hands still in his pockets. “Don’t fucking mess with my feelings,” he tells Dream without an ounce of humour despite the grin on his face. “It’s bad enough when Night does it, but you? Nah, I don’t need you snooping around in here,” he says, pointing at his skull and Dream does his best not to flinch back at the way Killer addressed his brother.

_Night._

How long had it been since Dream had last called him that? A century? Two? Maybe more. He shakes his head to get rid of the thought, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself. “So what do you want?” he glosses over his faux-pas.

Killer shrugs. “Night could feel an anomaly in this universe, something out of place. Told me to investigate it.” He looks away, almost bored. “And if it was you… well, you know the gist.”

Dream tenses up at that, his hands beneath the blanket flying to this side and grasping the staff that is tucked away safely; pain races through the nerves in his arm, but he ignores it. “So what are you waiting for?” He meant for it to come out much more threatening and snappy, but even to his own non-existent ears he only sounds scared, like a child.

“Relax,” Killer snickers again, shifting from one foot to the other. “I know where my loyalties lie, but this is something between the two of you. I don’t care much about your little feud, to be honest.”

So that’s what it is. A little, world-spanning feud between brothers.

He must have been muttering to himself because Killer tilts his head. “Kinda funny, isn’t it?” he says, and no, it really isn’t funny. “So why aren’t you smiling?” Killer takes one of his hands out of his pocket and Dream flinches back, but there’s no knife. He simply raises his hand to his face, dragging one corner of his mouth up with his index finger and widening his grin. “Like that.”

But Dream is in no mood for shenanigans. Especially not with someone as unstable as Killer. “What is there for me to smile about?” Weariness is tugging at his mind again as he hides beneath the blanket, still waiting for Killer to make the first move. “That’s right. I’ve got nothing to smile about.”

“You’re so gloomy that it’s hard to imagine you as the self-proclaimed guardian of positivity,” Killer says after a few seconds of silence. “Anyway, I’m gonna dip. And you should be gone as well in the next few minutes, if you value your life.” He winks at Dream before leaving the house, closing the door behind him.

And how is it that this is the first time he’s the one being left behind? Hasn’t it always been the other way around?

_(But it isn’t the first time, no matter how much he tries to pretend that it is.)_

* * *

“So you’ve decided to grace us with your presence again?” Papyrus says when he opens the door to the house. He’s already sitting in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette.

“Is Blue not here?” Dream evades the statement-question, even though he already knows the answer. Because if Blue was around, Papyrus probably wouldn’t be smoking right now. At least not inside the house.

“Left after you stormed off,” Papyrus says, gesturing to the counter where a neatly folded piece of paper is laying. Curiously, Dream opens it, scanning its contents. “Is he mad?” he asks, folding the note again and stuffing it into his pocket. Blue’s words hadn’t betrayed any of his feelings, but Blue had always been good at playing them off, so it’s hard to tell with him.

Papyrus shrugs. “You should ascertain that for yourself.” He takes another drag of his cigarette before snuffing it out in the palm of his hand. It looks like it would hurt. “Dream.”

And he knows what’s coming. He’s heard that tone before, and it’s never used for anything good. So he starts to turn around, thinks about opening the door and leaving, to go wherever, do whatever, but Papyrus isn’t done with him, and he’s used these two enough already that he can at least grant Papyrus this one wish, can at least listen to his words, even if it hurts. 

“You can’t keep running away whenever something bothers you,” Papyrus says, and the afternoon light that shines through the window illuminates one half of his face evenly while the other is drenched in shadows. “That’s not healthy.”

It’s funny, that Papyrus should be the one to talk about healthy coping mechanisms, but he bites down on his metaphorical tongue because saying mean things isn’t like him and he doesn’t like what he’s becoming, the negativity that has settled in his heart.

“This… escapism, or whatever you want to call it, Dream, it’s not good. We can’t help you if we don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Help me?” he asks, because the mere thought sounds absurd. “There’s nothing wrong with me. No, I… I should be the one helping you,” Dream blurts out, his hand coming up to clutch his shirt right over the place where his soul resides in his ribcage. “It’s- I- I’ll do better, I promise. And I’ll do my job again. You’re just feeling down because I’m not doing my job well enough, that’s it. That’s all.” He laughs nervously but Papyrus doesn’t laugh with him.

“No, that’s not it, Dream,” he says, when Dream’s fake laughter has ebbed away. He runs one of his hands over his eye sockets, sighing. “I’m too tired for this. Go and find Blue, he’s better at this than I am. And don’t run away again. You’re not a child anymore, Dream.”

Perhaps it’s guilt that keeps him from hopping again, as he instead searches the Omega timeline for a sign of Blue’s positivity, his aura that should be a constant across all timelines, one that he can’t detect, and that can only mean that either he’s in a different universe or Dream’s really not doing his job well enough and he doesn’t know what’s worse and-

-and there Blue is, sitting on a park bench in the garden that never blooms, that is so unlike the fake garden in Ink’s Doodle Sphere but way more real at the same time. He comes to a full stop in front of the bench, looking anywhere but at Blue who isn’t looking at him either.

There’s just silence.

“I-” Dream says at the same time that Blue says, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” he asks.

“Don’t say you’re sorry if you’re not,” Blue says, looking at him even if Dream can’t bring himself to meet his gaze. “Because that’s what you were going to say, isn’t it? That’s what you always say.” He doesn’t even sound mad, just resigned. And maybe that’s worse. Because it means he’s already given up on Dream.

So Dream shuts his mouth, watches the light filter through the leaves.

“Sit down,” Blue sighs.

Dream does as he says. He doesn’t want to upset Blue further. Blue, who had been his safe haven until now.

“You can’t keep running off,” Blue starts, twiddling his thumbs. He doesn’t look like he wants to have this talk, and neither does Dream, but here they are. Talking about stuff they don’t want to talk about. Because he messed everything up. Again.

“I know. Papyrus already told me.”

Blue scoffs. “As if Papy is any better. He does the same, doesn’t he? Run away whenever things get too much. Perhaps not as much as you, but still.” But despite his words, there’s a fondness in his voice, one that is reserved for his brother, and his brother alone. One that will never pertain to Dream because no matter how hard he tries, he’ll never belong to this family. And that’s his own fault, too, isn’t it?

“I understand, Blue,” he says, because he does, after all this time. “I think it’s finally time that we, I don’t know, part ways, I guess? I mean, you have to train for a spot in the royal guard and I have to actually do my job and-”

Oh god, he’s rambling, isn’t he?

“Wait, that’s what you took from my words?” Blue interrupts him, his eyes wide, disbelief and something like horror flashing through them. “That we wanna… get rid of you or something? Dream, what the hell?”

“Swear jar,” he mumbles, but Blue only groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Dream, we don’t even have a swear jar.” But he sobers up quickly, inching closer and taking Dream’s hands in his. “And we don’t want to get rid of you, I promise. I wish we could have been there for you sooner, really, I wish you wouldn’t have had to spend a century alone in your world, I wish that your brothe- that Nightmare wouldn’t have done this, I wish for a million different things but I would _never_ want you to think that you’re not welcome here, not in a million years.”

Dream frees his hand from his friend’s grip to wipe at his eye sockets, turning his head away so Blue doesn’t have to see him cry like he’s done so many times before. “But I-”

“There is no ‘but’, Dream,” Blue says softly. “When you love someone, you love all of them; you don’t just pick the parts you like. And that’s what family is about.” He draws back a little, wagging his finger in Dream’s face. “Now, that doesn’t mean I support your self-destructive behaviour. It just means that I’m willing to work on that with you.”

And then he closes his arms around Dream, pulls him into a hug and rests his chin on top of Dream’s head as he cries, and he doesn’t complain when Dream’s tears stain his uniform purple, he just tightens the embrace and lets Dream cry. His left eye socket hurts slightly. The sunlight is warm on his back, or maybe that’s just the warmth of Blue’s hands, he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t really care, either. “I’ve done nothing for you,” he mumbles into the fabric of Blue’s jacket, and Blue has the audacity to laugh. “I’ve done nothing to help any of you.”

“You’ve done enough, Dream. You’ve given Papy another reason to keep going for just another day and you made me laugh when I didn’t think that I could laugh ever again. You didn’t turn away, and that’s what counts.”

“But I’ve hurt you.”

“And? So has Papyrus, with his words, even if he didn’t mean to. That doesn’t make you a bad person. The important part is owning up to what you did.” Blue pulls back and pats his cheek, smiling softly at him, and Dream can feel nothing but positive emotions from him. “I’ll help you and you’ll help me. We’ll fix each other, with time.”

For the first time in a while, Dream smiles back, a genuine smile. Not the one he’d given Killer. “I- I think I’d like that.” They stay like that for a few more minutes, in the warmth of the sun as Dream soaks up the positive emotions he’d missed for so long.

And perhaps that is when the world around them starts breaking apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspiration for the scene with dream and killer came from this comic right [ here](https://ef-theartist.tumblr.com/post/636406127725281280/disgusting-sugar-sweet-smile-dream-by), so you should check out the artist's account because their stuff is good!
> 
> dunno when the 2nd chapter will be up because a) i don't have it pre-written, b) there are like 3 notes in my word document and c) exams hahaha. in any case, i hope this angsty, self-indulgent thing here is acceptable until then


	2. shade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring: Nightmare, Error, Fresh, Killer, and the end of the world (as we know it). 
> 
> Or perhaps not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i said it'd be one more chapter but uh. i'm a liar. the third (and last) chapter should be up today. it's already written (and way shorter than the first two chapters), so i'll just have to proofread it again.  
> also!! this is not gonna interest anyone but i did well in my maths exam so that's something. think i fucked up my english exam though. oops. 
> 
>   
> in any case, this chapter's title was inspired by Nier Automata's [City Ruins (Shade)](https://youtu.be/gARYzzV7CZs) but [Shadowlord](https://youtu.be/PqXPW0oBKgg) works as well. once the nier replicant remake comes out y'all are never gonna see me again. 
> 
> [obligatory mentions pt2:  
> Underfresh by CrayonQueen  
> Errortale by CrayonQueen]
> 
> this chapter was heavily inspired by ShadowPorpoise's [It's Us](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25267846/chapters/61257496), which is great. you should probably read it if you haven't. it's important to note that this is based less on the events in underverse and more so on what happens after, or rather, what happens in the alternate timeline that ShadowPorpoise created which is a great foundation

Nightmare is pacing. That’s never a good sign.

“So you met Dream.”

“Yep.” Killer doesn’t even look apologetic. He just looks smug, if Nightmare is being honest. And that’s definitely a look he wants to wipe off his subordinate’s face.

“And you didn’t kill him.” It’s not a question.

“Nope.” He even has the audacity to lean back into the couch’s cushions. “Doesn’t matter. He’ll be dead soon anyway.” His skeletal fingers glide over the edge of his knife. “Just like that.”

Nightmare is fuming; he can feel it oozing out of his bones, coating him like a layer of dust. “So, let me recap. I gave you the order to investigate the disturbance, which turned out to be my _brother,_ and you didn’t get rid of him, which directly goes against everything I have told you?”

“Uh-huh. Like I said, he’ll be dead soon. Nothing to worry about.”

“You’re talking about Fresh as if he’s some kind of transcendent disaster.”

“Nah. He’s a parasite. And can’t stand Ink. That’s enough.”

Nightmare sighs. Are subordinates that actually listen to you too much to ask for? He squeezes his eye socket shut. There’s no point in getting angry at Killer now. He’ll need him soon enough. Until then, he’ll just have to keep himself in check and try not do something that he might regret later.

It’s fucking harder than it has any right to be.

* * *

Sometimes when Nightmare sleeps, he finds himself in a garden. Not beneath the tree that raised him and Dream, but in an unfamiliar place, with trees that bear fruits far out of his reach, fruits that sparkle like gemstones. He’s been there so often that he can most likely name every single ruby and every splinter of sapphire that is reflecting the fake sunlight.

He’d be able to deal with the dream if it was just that, however. But it isn’t. Dream – his brother, what once was his brother – is there too. He looks different every time. The first time, he’d been normal. Annoying, small, the usual. Just Dream, how he used to be. Way before any of this had happened. He’d tried to hug Nightmare but even that problem had been taken care of with a swift tentacle to the chest; the illusion had faded into the background, crumbling and turning into ash like the rest of this world he’d left behind. He didn’t miss it.

It had been even easier the next time around. Dream, looking just about the same if it wasn’t for the stone that had locked his limbs in place, had encased him and bound him to this world, for good. His expression of horror, etched into his face for an eternity to come.

Nightmare had destroyed the statue.

Then came the dreams he couldn’t make sense of, not that he ever wanted to.

Dream, taller than he had any right to be and with a serious expression. He didn’t listen to a word this strange Dream said.

Dream, even taller than before, looming over him with a strange expression, one that reeked of dishonesty, his feelings a turmoil that not even Nightmare could decipher and wings that seemingly blocked out the sun. This Dream struck before he got the chance to. He woke up with a gasp.

Dream, all goopy and disgusting, not unlike him, with melting tentacles that curled around him as his acid burned the already dead grass. This Dream didn’t talk, didn’t even properly look at him. They both stood in silence.

And then a Dream so unlike the creature he’d once, foolishly, called _brother._ A Dream that looked happy, with a smile spanning the width of his face and shaking hands, dressed in disgustingly colourful clothes with his eyes hidden behind aviator sunglasses.

He still doesn’t try to make sense of the dreams. They’re just that, dreams.

* * *

“W-what do you want?” Error hisses at him, arms crossed in front of his chest. “I told you not to come h-here anymore. How did you even g-get in?”

Error – as always – talks too much. Nightmare only rolls his eye light, plopping down onto one of the bean bags that litter the Anti-Void. “It’s impossible to ignore your aura,” he mumbles in lieu of an actual answer. “For someone who prides himself on acting rational most of the time, you sure don’t suit your actions to your words.”

Silence settles between them as they eye each other. “W-whatever,” Error says, looking away. “I’m asking you o-one more time. What do you want?”

“It’s begun,” Nightmare says, ominously. He doesn’t have to say much more. He can just watch Error fall apart on the inside, the not-quite void inside his chest always growing as he reclines back into the bean bag.

“He’s here?” Error asks, wringing his hands. He’s not nervous, Nightmare would be able to feel that. Actually, there is no aura that Nightmare can pick up on at all. “L-like, here as in...?”

“He will be.” Nightmare nods.

Error seems uncertain. “Fresh won’t attack the Omega timeline, n-not of his own accord.”

There’s a grim smile on Nightmare’s face, one that is reserved for occasions like this one. “He’ll have reason enough.”

Error still seems hesitant, but he nods, the white ERROR messages around him glitching harshly for a split second before settling down once again. “A-alright. You and the others-” there’s always disdain in his voice when he talks about Nightmare’s subordinates- “will take c-care of it, right?”

Nightmare grins. “That was the deal.”

There’s not much to say after that.

* * *

It’s seldom that Nightmare can sense Dream’s negative feelings this clearly. Normally they’re muddled, hidden underneath layers upon layers of pretend-emotions. Dream is a liar; he’s always been one and he’ll always be one. It’s as simple as that.

So watching his brother’s golden soul squirm like that, in the clutches of whatever has grasped him is quite… exhilarating. And feeling the fear and grief pour out of him in waves is a welcome change.

Dream doesn’t know what’s going on, and perhaps that it was scares him, what draws him to this place, the Omega timeline, the safe haven for refugees of the worlds of terror that Nightmare created, the worlds that Error destroyed, in the end. A bleak place, if you ask Nightmare.

But no one ever asks him anything, so it doesn’t matter much what he thinks.

All that matters is that Dream will be there, weakened by the parasite, hopefully. Not that he couldn’t beat Dream even if his brother were at the height of his powers – Dream has always been average at best, not really good for anything _(and whose fault is that?)_.

It’s only a matter of seconds now.

* * *

The Omega timeline isn’t quite what he’d expected, if he’s being honest. Not that he expected much in the first place, but still, it is somewhat disappointing, devoid of… well, not life, per se. It does have an astonishing number of citizens, but it feels empty all the same. And Nightmare would know.

That is not his current concern, however. No, that spot would have to be claimed by the act of trying to pinpoint Dream’s exact location, which certainly is proving to be a feat given the way his emotions change every other second.

He moves through the shadows, keeping out of the other monsters’ sight _(they’re not important, nothing more than specks of dust in the grand scheme of things)_ , his singular eye light fixated on the golden shimmer that is steadily coming closer. Error can have the rest of this world, of this timeline once he is done – he doesn’t care much for it or its inhabitants. No, what he cares about is getting rid of his brother, one way or another.

Maybe he won’t have to do much to make it happen after all, if the way Dream is squirming on the park bench is anything to go by. He must be quite preoccupied if he still hasn’t noticed Nightmare’s presence. Perhaps Killer’s initial assessment of Fresh had been correct after all.

He narrows his eye socket, stares at what once had been his brother and the smaller skeleton beside him that is helplessly rubbing Dream’s back as he chokes on his words. Blue, probably, if Error’s description is anything to go by.

Grinding his teeth together, he draws back a little, hiding in the shadows. He could definitely take on both of them, even at the same time, but letting Fresh wear Dream out a little longer seems like the wiser option, and Nightmare is not averse to letting someone else do the dirty work for him.

“It’s- I…” He can hear Dream stutter, head in his hands where he is sitting on the bench. White knuckles. No gloves. He always wears gloves. “I don’t- this is not…” Blue shushes him, quietly, and Nightmare can feel concern bubble up in Blue’s chest, festering and a deep shade of blue.

“It’s alright, Dream,” he says, still patting Dream’s back. “This was- it was an exhausting day, for both of us. How about we go back and make some hot chocolate, hm?”

Dream shakes his head. “No, I-” He presses one of his hands against his left eye socket, the bone around it already red and raw and bruised. “There’s something that I-” He cuts himself off, unsure. His eye lights flit around as if he’s searching for something.

“That you what, Dream?” Blue prods him softly, lightly tugging his hand away from his face to take a look at it himself. Nightmare’s breath catches in his throat for a split millisecond.

Sure, he’s heard of Fresh. Has heard descriptions of him, the deeds he had done and the way he takes over his hosts. But he’s never seen the parasite in action. Not until now, at least. Instead of Dream’s left eye light there are several small, purplish talons protruding from his eye socket, burrowing themselves deeper into the bone marrow. The sight is positively disgusting.

It elicits a small grin from him.

Blue, on the other hand, has drawn his hand back, clasping it over his mouth instead. “Dream, you- we need to…”

“I know!” Something like a strangled sob escapes Dream’s throat. His hand is pressed against his eye socket again. This time, Blue doesn’t pull it away. He curls into himself, mumbling something. Nightmare can’t hear what he’s saying, but his darkened aura is enough for him to guess it.

He’s never seen Dream despair like this before, his golden soul suffocated by the abundance of negativity he is feeling, even without Nightmare’s help. Whatever Fresh’s doing in there, whatever bad memories he brings to light, it seems to be working.

And then it’s as if a switch is flipped.

The mass of negative emotions that had been deep, deep inside Dream’s chest is buried underneath a blanket of _nothingness_ , as empty as the sky in this weird timeline, and something else, someone else replaces his brother, takes his face and acts like it’s their own.

Dream straightens himself. Ignores Blue, who’s still sitting on the bench, looking bemused. And perhaps a little scared. Of Dream.

A smile is spanning the width of his face, but his hands aren’t shaking. With a click of his fingers, his attire changes. No more subdued yellows and blues; only the harsh, neon colours that the parasite seems to prefer, eyes hidden behind aviator sunglasses, unreadable apart from the YOLO that is written across the lenses. “Ya can, like, come out, y’know.”

It’s Dream’s mouth that’s saying those words, but not quite his voice. There’s no sign of Dream, nothing but his face staring at Nightmare as if he’s seeing him in the shadows. And isn’t that what he’d wanted, all along?

Nightmare leaves the relative safety of the shadows, stops lurking around. The shadows slide off of him like black water. “You took longer than expected,” he says with disdain, looking at his not-brother. Hands in his pockets, the goopy tentacles lowered. There’s no point in fighting Fresh. Not right now, at least. And the only other threat – Ink – isn’t here. He will be, soon enough, but that’s Error’s problem to deal with, not his. Preferably after Ink has dealt with Fresh.

Fresh shrugs with Dream’s shoulders, raising his hands as if saying _“Well, what can you do?”_ and shifts his weight. “Ya didn’t specify da dets, bro-ski.” Dream is screaming, somewhere inside his head, all despair and grief. It’s causing a slight migraine to form behind Nightmare’s temples. He ignores it.

“What’s- I don’t…” And that would be Blue, then. Oblivious, naïve Blue. Nightmare doesn’t even bother to turn to him. He can’t detect any fear, only concern, but that’s alright. Blue will learn to fear him soon enough. “Dream?” he asks, turning towards Fresh, although he makes no move to approach his friend. “Are you… alright?”

Fresh laughs, throwing his head back. “Never been better, lil’ bro,” he answers, his golden tooth flashing in the afternoon sun that doesn’t exist here. He crosses the space between them in a few, large steps, patting Blue’s head although they’re pretty much the same height. Hesitates a second too long before answering. Nightmare’s eye socket narrows to a slit. “He’s, like, just takin’ a nap in here, will wake up soon enough ‘n stuff.” He points at his head, that deranged grin still on his face. Dream’s face. Someone’s face. “Welp, guess I-”

Nightmare’s heard enough. “Sorry to burst your bubble,” he interrupts him. A step forward. “But you’re going nowhere.” The tentacles on his back finally twitch into life, one by one, leaving trails of black, tar-like goop on the ground, as if they’ve been waiting for this.

He can’t let Fresh leave. Can’t let the body Fresh is inhabiting leave.

Fresh doesn’t turn around to face him, but he doesn’t need to. Nightmare can hear the frown in his voice, can feel the pulse of his brother’s soul go haywire. “That… ain’t part of da deal, like, at all, bro. Totes not rad a’ ya.” Dream’s still somewhere in there, his body acting as a vessel. He just needs to, well, kill two birds with one stone, as they say.

There’s something glinting behind the sunglasses.

Nightmare cracks his fingers. One by one. Then his neck. “Don’t you get it? The deal’s off.”

Fresh has all but a second to jump out of the way as Nightmare’s tentacles bury into the ground where he just stood, and he lands on his feet like a cat, graceful and without breaking into a sweat. He jams his hands into the pockets of his ridiculous jacket. His glasses read RUDE. “So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh.” He snaps his fingers, eyeing Nightmare cautiously. It’s quite loud in this otherwise silent world. No birds are singing. Commotion in the distance.

“That’s right.” Nightmare smirks, preparing to launch another attack. “So why don’t you do me a favour and die already?”

Technically, Fresh can’t die. That’s why Error has given up dealing with him, trying to get rid of him. But the impossible has never frightened Nightmare, the embodiment of fear itself. It’s just another word.

His next attack is much more coordinated, piercing the ground where Fresh had just been and then coming up just to close around empty air; for every attack that Nightmare unloads, Fresh has a counter. His agility – or perhaps it’s Dream’s will to survive – is, quite frankly, annoying. Nightmare’s tentacles twitch in accordance with his feelings.

His sludge blocks a bone that Fresh sends in his vague direction, and Nightmare can’t shake the feeling that the parasite is just playing with him when an agitated voice yells, “Stop!” and Blue jumps in-between them, his hands raised as if he wants to keep them from fighting, as if that’ll do anything. If he thinks he’s accomplishing anything, he’s more delusional than even Dream.

Nightmare snorts while Fresh looks sort of troubled. His hands don’t shake. But then his expression changes, calms down, and he smiles at Blue. And then he laughs, Dream’s laugh but somehow not. Not-Dream. High-pitched and purple-sounding and deranged. “What’s wrong, lil’ bro?” Fresh asks.

Blue curls his hands into Fresh’s jacket, fingers tightening around the fabric. Nightmare can basically taste his grief. “Let him go. Please.” He’s not quite begging, but he’s getting there, slowly. Desperation is some powerful stuff. “Please. Don’t… hurt him.”

The entire world stills for a second as time slows, until Fresh throws his head back and laughs again, louder. Harsher, more abrupt. Nightmare hasn’t seen Dream laugh like this in ages. But then again, the monster in front of him is not Dream. “And ain’t that funny, yo,” Fresh gasps for air, pushing his sunglasses upwards to wipe at his eye sockets. There are purple tear tracks on his cheeks. “What makes ya think he ain’t enjoying this? That he ain’t as fed up with this crap as anyone else, yo?” And then he smiles, all teeth. “What makes ya think that he don’t want to see da world burn?”

Blue’s face is pale, paler than even the sky. But instead of the desperation settling inside his chest, turning into something that Nightmare can feed off of, his resolve only strengthens. He unclenches his hands, steps back from Fresh, who’s still watching him. “Then you’re leaving me no other choice.” And before either of them can react, Blue’s already summoned his Gaster Blaster, burning a hole into the ground right beside Fresh. Cyan wisps fill the stale air, dancing around like Northern Lights. “That’s your last warning.”

Nightmare curses himself. A third variable in the equation is… bothersome, to say the least. It’s not like he’s afraid of Blue, it’s just that he’s rather unpredictable, especially if his emotions are blocked off like that. He hadn’t expected this outcome. He probably should have.

Nightmare can’t dwell on his thoughts for much longer, because it seems that Fresh is done toying around with him, summoning his Gaster Blasters as well and channelling their magic towards Nightmare who throws up his tentacles at the last second, absorbing the blow. He tries to shrink back into the shadows to observe the situation from afar, but it seems that Blue has other plans for him.

“I’m not done with you, either!” he yells at Nightmare, crossing the grass faster than his little legs should be able to carry him, summoning a volley of bones with a simple swipe of his hand. “Don’t think I forgot about you!”

Nightmare clicks his tongue. Maybe the plan hadn’t been as thought-out as they had assumed. Ink would be arriving soon, and he really didn’t want to be here when Ink arrived, so he’d rather get this over with, _thank you very much_.

He dodges Blue’s attack, simply sidesteps it as Fresh watches them, not even interfering. Hands in his pockets, that smile still on his face. He reaches out to the parasite with his own soul, searches for something, anything he can use as a base, but whatever negative emotions Dream’s experiencing, Fresh is keeping them hidden underneath a blanket of nothingness, a void far emptier than Error’s.

“No luck, brah,” Fresh drawls, and then he’s in front of Nightmare in the blink of an eye, swinging at him, and is that Dream laughing or is that Fresh again, he can’t tell the difference anymore and then his back collides with the trunk of a tree and flashes of cyan magic blink in and out of existence around him. “Gotcha.”

But Fresh is mistaken if he thinks that Nightmare is giving up so easily, so willingly. He’s severely mistaken. While Blue runs up to them, tries to persuade Fresh again, threatens him with attacks that he won’t pull off because he’s afraid, afraid of hurting Dream, even if it means letting this world be destroyed _(and isn’t it disgusting, how he’s taken Nightmare’s place as Dream’s brother so quickly?)_ and that gives him ample time to delve into Dream’s mind again now that Fresh is distracted, to search for something that he can use to his advantage.

It’s been a long time since they’ve had any telepathic bond at all. Nightmare’s carefully eliminated each and every remnant of the past, including the link to his brother. He doesn’t regret it.

And there Dream is. Curled up in the depths of his own mind, pathetic and small as he always had been. Nightmare nudges him with his foot. Kneels down next to him. Gently takes off his brother’s crown. It’s just them here, them and no one else. His hands are white. They haven’t been this free of sludge in a very long time. 

Dream chokes, splutters when he feels Nightmare’s fingers against his skull. His hands search for his brother, something to hold on to in the darkness. But he keeps slipping off. The darkness is growing.

Nightmare grins. “They’re all gonna die,” he starts, and Dream flinches under his touch, “because of you. And it’ll be your fault, all over again. Just as it had been back then, isn’t that right, Dream?” He watches as Dream curls up, tries to make himself smaller as if he wants to disappear. “Not once were you ever there for me. And look what happened. Look where it led us.”

If there’s one thing he remembers about his brother, about the endless, dark nights they spent together, under that tree, it’s Dream’s guilt. Guilt, which births fear and desperation and anger. Not hatred, no, but righteous anger. And that, Nightmare can work with. He reaches out again, grabs Dream’s face and forces him to turn around. It’s an awkward position, with Dream still curled up on the floor, but it’s the most he can do. Dream’s eyes are closed. He’s nothing more than a scared child.

Nightmare opens his mouth.

But before he can kindle the fire of negative emotions further, he’s thrown out of Dream’s mind, back into the bleakness of the real world where nothing more than a second has passed. Fresh and Blue are still staring at each other, waiting for the other to make the first move, but now there’s something else, or perhaps _someone_ else.

Dream’s presence is weak, but it’s there, burning beneath Fresh’s façade, white-hot, and clashing with the aura of nothingness that Fresh emits. They’re intermingling, mixing, and Nightmare uses his tentacles to push himself upwards as he watches the spectacle, as something like recognition flashes through Dream’s body, as the Gaster Blaster that hovers behind him wavers, and his hands shake. Blue looks hopeful.

And then Dream screams as Fresh fires.

Blue summons a row of bones around himself, effectively shielding him from the rainbow-coloured blast as the trees around him burn to crisp ash, carried away by the wind. When the dust lifts, Blue is just standing there, hands in his pockets as bones float around him. There’s not an ounce of fear to be found in his entire body.

Even Fresh looks mildly surprised. At least until he clasps his hands over his ears and slumps down, shaking all over. Nightmare doesn’t need to hear Dream’s mumbled yells to know that he’s struggling, trying to break out of Fresh’s hold and Blue is scrambling to get to him, to assist Dream because he’s been more of a brother to Dream than Nightmare ever was and-

-and chaos erupts.

Nightmare is vaguely aware that Dream is screaming again, _Please let me go_ and _Don’t hurt them_ and _Leave me the hell alone_ and for a split second he wonders when Dream learnt to curse and why Fresh doesn’t censor him but the thought is gone in a second, replaced by more important issues. He watches _(not in horror)_ as Blue drops to his knees next to Dream, rips the sunglasses off his face and jams his hand – his entire, fucking hand – into Dream’s eye socket. No hesitation, just conviction.

Conviction that he’s doing the right thing, that that’ll help his friend somehow. Bring him back.

When Blue pulls his hand out again, he’s clutching a purple gob with claws and teeth, not quite solid and squidging between his fingers.

It’s in this moment of vulnerability, Blue occupied with the parasite that is just… sitting in the palm of his hand, doing nothing but staring up at him and Dream gasping on the ground, clutching his face, that Nightmare decides to strike. To wipe them out once and for all. He’s had enough of their games and shenanigans.

He focuses his energy. Readies his tentacles.

Sends them their way as the confusion crescendos, getting louder and louder inside his head, like Dream’s never-ending scream. 

Something splatters on the ground.

Black ink.

He grits his teeth together, pressing his hand to his face as his attack dissolves into nothingness. Another opportunity. Wasted. Gone for good. And he can’t blame anyone but himself.

Nightmare decides to get out of there as long as he still has the chance. The impossible has never frightened Nightmare, but he knows when to give up. Error still isn’t here.

With one last, resentful look, he vanishes.

* * *

Nightmare is pacing again.

Killer only watches in amusement. “Well that certainly didn’t work out,” he says, resting his cheek on the palm of his upturned hand. “Wanna give it a second go or no?”

Nightmare huffs.

“Alright then. Guess that’s a no, huh?” Killer snickers, watching as Nightmare turns on his heels and stalks back to the other end of the room. “Maybe ya shouldn’t have double-dealt. Or triple-dealt? Is that what you call it?” He seems to think about it for a second before shrugging. “Was bound to go sour. Especially with Fresh and Ink involved. And Error.”

He doesn’t grace him with an answer this time.

“That’s fair, that’s fair.” Killer laughs again. “So what are we gonna do now, boss?” There’s a certain glint in his eye, one that tells him that Killer is silently making fun of him. Or perhaps he’s just losing whatever little of his sanity he has left.

“ _We_ ,” he spits out between clenched teeth, “aren’t going to do _anything_.

If Killer is surprised by that, well, he doesn’t show it. He simply shrugs, sinking deeper into the cushions. “Alright, boss. Whatever you say.”

Nightmare abruptly turns away, marching out of the room.

This is far from over. He’ll make sure of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wish i was a 90s kid. it'd make writing fresh's slang a whole lot easier. and i could wear cool clothes. 
> 
> also i'm stuck at home lol. completely snowed in. I'm just waiting for the power outage to happen. take care, my fellow europeans.


	3. twilight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is more of an epilogue than anything else, really. i just wanted to clear some things up.  
> so... that's it, then. the last installment. 
> 
> there sadly is not a nier automata track for this chapter but [[Spring] This Was Your Place](https://youtu.be/f2Mn3AMWsiE) by Sunlight Ascending works just fine
> 
> fun fact: alternative titles for this chapter were crepuscule, gloaming and dusk to dawn

Dream’s not quite himself anymore, but Blue had already expected it’d turn out like that. He tries not to blame Fresh, tries to aim his anger at Nightmare _(who definitely is at fault, no doubt, even if Dream were to deny it),_ tries to let it live down, but that’s easier said than done when Dream is looking like that, flinching at every small noise; when he suddenly can’t stand the darkness or the silence, neither of which ever bothered him before or when he avoids Blue’s eyes as if his life depends on it.

Whatever it is that’s wrong with Dream, they can’t help him. All of their efforts currently go into rebuilding what’s been destroyed in the chaos, and Dream spends his time with Papyrus, who doesn’t urge him to talk about it, who just sits in amicable silence, and perhaps that is what Dream needs, even if Blue doesn’t like it very much, doesn’t like letting him stay behind and stare into the distance for hours without end. It reminds him of Ink.

Blue huffs as he lifts another part of the wall that came down when the other Sanses – Killer and Dust and probably Horror as well – attacked the timeline while they were occupied. He could use his magic, but where would be the fun in that? And besides, he wants to talk to Fresh, to quell the worries that plague his mind, and Fresh doesn’t like the tell-tale, cyan glow of his magic. “He’ll… he’ll be alright with enough time, won’t he?” he asks, quietly talking to the small parasite that’s perched on his shoulder.

His bones still crawl when he thinks back to the encounter, Dream with empty eyes and Fresh’s bitterness. His willingness to get back at Ink, no matter how high the price he had to pay was. The way Nightmare had grinned, full of malice. No, he doesn’t like thinking about it very much.

It’s a miracle that he’s still alive, and even more so that Fresh is still here. Fresh, who isn’t as bad as everyone had always made him out to be. Fresh, still without a body. They’d would have to work on that in the future.

Fresh shrugs on his shoulder as best as he can. “Dunno, that’s totes up ta him, lil’ bro. Most a’ them recover.”

_Most of them._

Blue furrows his brows. “And what about those who don’t?” He lifts another rock and drops it on the steadily growing pile of debris.

Fresh is silent after that, for a long time. Just sitting there, claws digging into Blue’s uniform. Papyrus hadn’t wanted him to stay, but Papyrus didn’t approve of a lot of things. Dream hadn’t said anything.

Blue opens his mouth to ask again, but Fresh beats him to it. “He don’t have much of a choice, bro.” He shifts slightly, his singular eye staring down at the ground. “Not much of a choice, like, at all. And ain’t that tragic? When ya entire future is laid out in front of ya like that?”

Blue sighs, rubbing his hand over the bridge of his nose. “Can you… maybe talk to him? I’m worried.”

“Doubt he’ll wanna, like, talk ta me. After all I've done.”

Blue doesn’t know what he did. He can only see the aftereffects and pick up the pieces to put together what’s left of Dream. And as much as he loves his friend, it’s tiring. Physically tiring. “Just try to talk to him. Please.”

Fresh sighs. “Guess I’ll see what I can do, lil’ bro.”

“Thank you.”

It’s tiring.

* * *

Sitting on the steps of a house.

Not his house. A house.

The sun is setting. Again. As it does every day. Again and again and again and again. Always a sunrise, always a sunset. Twilight in between.

He can’t move his body. It doesn’t matter much.

A familiar weight next to him. Nightmare?

No. Too small for Nightmare. Too much positivity. He doesn’t look. Can’t look. Frozen in place.

“Hey, uh, Dream,” a voice says. “I’ve… I thought we could talk for a second, if you don’t have anything better to do?”

He doesn’t answer. Can’t answer. Nothing to say.

“Alright, I’ll take that as a yes. Listen, I know you’ve had your differences but…” Hesitation. Fear? Not fear? Apprehension? It all feels the same. If Nightmare were here… “Fresh wanted to apologize, so I’ll just. Leave him here. And you can talk. Call me if you need anything!”

Shuffling, next to him. Blue, out of the corners of his eye sockets. Purple, next to his hand. Silence.

A small, tinny voice. Discorporate. Outside of his head. “Wassup,” it says. He doesn’t have the energy to flinch. His left eye socket hurts. “So… our pal Blue here wanted me ta talk ta ya.” Purple doesn’t touch him. Dream knows his name isn’t Purple. But he can’t think of it right now, either, even though it had been here just a second ago. “Sort out our differences.”

Silence. Enough space for him to answer.

He can’t.

Purple crawls closer, pokes at his fingers splayed out on the ground. Can’t flinch. Purple leaves him be. “Didn’t mean ta hurt ya, y’know. You’s just a kiddo. Don’t mean no harm ta anyone.”

Silence.

“But that’s life, bro. And I thought we were cool. On da same page.” Purple waits again before continuing. “But he said something ta ya, no? That guy, your bro-ski.”

Silence.

“Dunno what he said ta ya. Couldn’t of been anything good. But-” Purple hesitates. Pokes at his fingers again. Can’t flinch. “There’s people worried ‘bout ya, Dream. Like… Blue ‘n Papyrus.”

Silence.

“’n me, too, I guess.” Purple shifts again.

Silence.

“So… I know it’s bold a’ me ta say dis. But, like- I know I done fucked up, man. But I kinda wanna stay here, with y’all. And, if you’ll let me, we can, like, fix this. I promise.”

Crying. Dream is crying. Tear tracks on his cheeks, water dripping to the ground.

The door opens. Blue kneeling in front of him. Looking. Not touching.

“What did you do?” Blue, looking at Purple. Not at him. Not angry. Concerned.

Dream reaches out awkwardly pats his arm. “Didn’t do anything,” he mumbles. Too quiet. Not quiet enough.

Blue gapes. Crosses the space between them in the span of a second. Arms wrapping around Dream. He freezes. Blue steps back, scratching the back of his head, tugs at the scarf around his neck. Reaches down and picks up Purple.

Tear tracks on his face. Blue looking at him. Purple.

Dream tries to smile. Doesn’t work.

Tries to feel something. Doesn’t work.

Blue, crouching in front of him. Smiling. Hopeful. Pain in his eyes. In his smile. Pain he caused.

Purple’s promise.

His brother. Still out there. Alone.

He doesn’t want to be alone.

_[their world, crumbling before their eyes_

_but perhaps there is something left to salvage_

_wisps of hope, golden, like sunlight_

_blue, like a cloudless sky_

_purple, like the dawn of a new day]_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dream doesn't forgive Fresh, that's important to note. At least not now, but maybe he won't ever "forgive and forget". And Blue isn't perfect either. No one is. That's life. 
> 
> in any case, dream and fresh are a deadly combo and i (please imagine here that I'm clenching my hand right now) will make them into the lethal duo they deserve to be by continously breaking dream until only shards are left. just kidding! 
> 
> ... unless?
> 
> anyways, this was supposed to be a lot more sad at first, but... i'm just bad at writing sad stuff. it's by no means a happy ending, but it's hopeful. and it might not be an ending at all. it's quite vague and open for a reason. until next time, and thank you.


End file.
